[tags: smut. porn. other synonyms for smut & porn ;-)]
"You know I'm letting you win, right?"
Sam threw a smile with his words at the woman across the pool table, and she let out a throaty laugh.
"If you say so, sugar," she purred, lining up her next shot. He ran an appreciative glance over her – he was Dean's but he was also 18 years old, and he could appreciate a nice body and pretty face. She raised her eyes to his and winked at him, and he chuckled and shook his head.
They were headed away from Arizona, where they had spent three days holed up in some small-town motel room. Dean had fulfilled that driving darkness that so frequently burned within him while there, come back to the room far less twitchy and more himself, and they had departed the next morning.
Now they were headed east (no particular destination, just east), and had made a pit-stop here for some food, fuel, and a couple of beers. He had shot two games of pool with Dean before being challenged by the girl at the table with him now.
His gaze flicked to Dean, whom was leaning against the back wall, watching them. Pool girl's chatty friend was next to him, talking him up. The man was almost-obviously ignoring her (she hadn't caught on yet, it seemed); instead his eyes were fixed on the girl at the pool table, a scowl etching his features and his arms crossed over his chest.
Sam watched his brother watch the girl, and felt that familiar warmth pooling in his stomach. There was a body and a face he could appreciate. His brother was gorgeous, and half the time Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from him. It was half the reason he kept missing his shots when it was his turn at the table – he kept getting distracted by Dean. That possessiveness written all over the older man's features, etched in his stance, made Sam want to pounce him on the spot.
His brother's green gaze flicked to him, and the scowl faded. Dean ran his eyes over Sam, slowly; the smirk the other man gave him made Sam want to melt where he stood.
He blinked and tore his eyes from the man as he heard the girl's voice near his shoulder,
"Your turn, sugar."
His focus was completely gone from the game now, all of it on his brother and the way the man watched him. He finally shook his head, gave the girl a smile and conceded, "I know when I'm beat."
She moved close, raised a hand to brush it down his chest, and offered, "I can give you some tips if you're interested. Back at my place." She giggled at the flush that touched his cheeks, pouted when he declined, telling her they had a long drive in the morning, and sashayed away, her chatty friend in tow.
Sam turned to Dean as the man crossed toward him: he saw the clenched fists, the way his brother's gaze was locked on the girl walking through the almost-empty bar. He recognized that look: his brother's eyes were locked on a potential target. He moved in front of the other man and caught his arm, halting him.
"Dean, she was just flirting."
"Yeah, with what belongs to me," the other growled, features practically a snarl.
Sam laughed softly, "You can't beat down every person who flirts."
"Wanna bet?" The threat in the words were real as Dean started to push by him, eyes locked on the departing girl again.
"Dean."
The soft-spoken word drew his brother's eyes to him again, and Sam pressed against him.
"She's just a girl, Dean. She doesn't mean anything to me." The green gaze flicked to the girl before returning to him, and he leaned in to brush his mouth against his brother's jawline. The older man's attention was focused fully on him now as he continued,
"She doesn't make my heart want to crawl out of my chest the way you do. She doesn't make me forget how to breathe the way you do." His mouth brushed Dean's, light and teasing, and the older man followed after him as he pulled back again to murmur, "She doesn't make me want to give everything - heart, body, blood, and insides - the way you do."
His brother's pupils were blown wide, fingers digging into his hips and eyes searching his face. He watched as Dean's tongue slid out to lick his lips, and he leaned in to finish,
"Her name isn't carved on my skin, the way yours is."
Moments later he found him self slammed back against the wall as Dean's mouth crashed into his own.
Sam moaned softly as his brother's mouth claimed his, possessive and hungry; Sam could feel Dean's rock-hard dick pressing against his own. He gasped softly, arched against the older man, as Dean's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head back. Teeth nipped hard at his throat and Sam rocked his hips forward, fingers clutching at the other's muscled arms.
"Hey!" A voice called from somewhere near them, "You can't do that in here!"
Sam watched as his brother reached back to pull his gun from the waist of his jeans, where it had been tucked beneath his jacket. Dean pointed the weapon at the man – the bar's manager or owner, he wasn't sure and didn't care – without raising his head from Sam's throat. The aim was accurate, pointed right at the man's face, and the bar manager muttered several colorful curses.
"Whatever," the man finally muttered, turning away, "Try to not make a mess, willya?" The man stomped off, and Sam chuckled, slightly breathless: Dean was sucking at a spot below his ear.
"He's probably going to call the police," he warned, spreading his legs as the other reached down to rub his throbbing cock through his jeans. He could feel the other man smirk against his skin as Dean answered,
"He was smoking meth in the corner when we walked in. He's not calling anyone."
When Dean's fingers reached for the button of his jeans, Sam pressed a hand against his chest. His brother halted, raised questioning eyes to him, and he leaned in and nipped the man's ear lobe. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, rocking against Dean's teasing hand, "Don't want to freak out the locals."
"Fuck the locals."
Sam laughed at the growling words, and Dean shot him a slight grin, eyes locked on his face. He could feel himself flush as the older man murmured,
"You're beautiful when you laugh, Sammy."
He bit his bottom lip, shot his brother a shy glance, and Dean cursed softly, pressing hard against him.
"You can fuck me here," he licked a path along his brother's neck to nuzzle at his ear, "or you can fuck me on the hood of the Impala."
Dean's fingers tightened on his aching cock for a moment, drawing a low moan from him. The other pulled away suddenly and commanded,
"Car. Now."
They were barreling down some backroad, south of the bar, in the Impala several minutes later. Sam couldn't tear his eyes off his brother; Dean was behind the wheel, face illuminated in the darkness by the dashboard lights, obvious tension burning beneath his outwardly relaxed appearance. The older man glanced at him as he muttered a soft, "Fuck". He undid his seat belt and scooted across the bench seat to press against Dean's side.
"Wanna suck you, Dean."
The other man shot him a smirk which had Sam's cock twitching.
"Yeah?" the other man reached over to catch a handful of his hair in one fist. He exhaled a sharp breath, shivers wracking him, as Dean pulled hard, tugging his head closer.
"Ask me nicely and I'll think about it."
"Please, Dean," he leaned in, relishing the feel of his brother's fingers tangled in his hair, controlling how far he was able to move his head, "Can I please suck you off?"
"I'm driving, Sam. You really want to distract me like that and risk an accident?"
Damnit, his brother was a horrible tease.
The other man chuckled at his impatient exclamation of, "Yes!" He tried to press his mouth against Dean's throat, but the man jerked his head back. A low whine of frustration and need escaped his throat, and a predatory grin curved his brother's mouth. Dean pulled his head close, shoved him down toward his crotch, and relented, "Suck me, babyboy."
Fina-fucking-ly.
Sam's hands were shaking as he undid the button of Dean's jeans, shoved down the zipper. He brushed his fingers down the denim-clad cock, before reaching in to free it from its confines. He let out a sound of pleasure as his brother arched his hips, brushing the head of his dick against Sam's mouth. He wet his lips with his tongue, then leaned in to take the other man in his mouth.
"Fuck, Sammy," Dean's groan of approval as Sam swallowed down his cock sent a thrill through him. He pulled off to trace the head with the tip of his tongue; Dean's hand grasped the back of his neck, shoving his head back down. Sam moaned and obeyed the unspoken order, swallowing down the man's shaft again. That controlling hand forced his head down further, and he gagged slightly as the head of Dean's cock bumped the back of his throat.
He half-heard the older man mutter a string of curses, was only partially aware of the sound of gravel as the car was maneuvered off the highway, onto the wide shoulder. His attention was on the hard dick in his mouth, the silky shaft beneath his tongue, the way Dean pressed deeper, choking him. He moaned, practically in heaven, when his brother's fingers tangled in his hair and the man began thrusting up into his mouth.
Too soon, his brother pulled him off his dick. Sam whined, lips sore and red, spit and pre-cum trickling down his chin, and tried to lean back in. Dean jerked him against him instead, caught his mouth in a hard kiss, the hand that wasn't tangled in his hair pressing against his throat.
His brother was trying to reduce him to a pile of lust and ashes, obviously.
When Dean released him suddenly and growled, "Out of the car," he scrambled to obey. He had just climbed out of the Impala, closed the door behind him, when Dean reached him. The man grabbed him by the hair again, dragged him around to the front of the car and shoved him, face down, on the hood.
Rough hands reached around him to undo his jeans and shove them off his hips, dragging his boxers with them. His shirt went next, jerked off and tossed aside. Dean leaned against his back then, pressing his chest and stomach against the hood. His dick was pinned between his stomach and the warm metal, and Sam moaned and thrust his hips, trying to find more friction.
"Trying to fuck my car, Sammy?" the lust-roughened, honeyed voice in his ear was sex, and Sam pressed back hard against the other man.
"Fuck me, Dean, please."
His plea was ignored as Dean pulled him up, off the car, and back against him. His brother's hand was on his dick then, gripping tightly and stroking hard.
"My good little bitch," the other man purred, sending shudders through him, "You belong to me, bitch. That whore at that bar or any other ever touches you again, and I'll fucking gut 'em."
"Oh god, Dean.."
His brother chuckled darkly at his helpless moan, slipped his hand around Sam's throat and squeezed, lightly at first and then harder.
Dean's teeth sank into his shoulder and Sam's eyes nearly rolled back in his head, pain-pleasure overtaking him. He began to come, sudden and hard, Dean's name a ragged cry from his lips. He heard his brother growl his name, felt the other man's hips rock hard against him, as his come coated his stomach and the Impala's hood.
Several minutes passed before Sam caught his breath and was able to blink open his eyes. He was still wrapped in his brother's arms, Dean's hips rocking in slow circles against his ass. He rolled his head to the side to glance at his brother – he was pretty sure that all of his bones had melted with that orgasm. Dean shot him a smirk, tugged him closer and pressed a kiss against his temple.
"Made me cum in my jeans, you little fucker," the older man's fingers brushed through his hair before taking a firm grip, "Made a mess on my car, too. Guess you'll be licking that up."
Sam's eyes flicked to the Impala's hood and the splatters of come decorating it. He licked his lips, glanced back at Dean again. The older man growled softly, fingers tightening in his hair; he was pressed down against the car's hood seconds later.
"Lick it up."
Sam obeyed and trailed his tongue through the cooling cum, licking it off the car's still-warm hood. Dean stepped away from him for a moment, hand still wrapped in his hair; seconds later he was pressing against Sam again, sans his jeans. Sam could feel the man's half-hard cock pressing against his ass, and he rocked back against his brother.
Dean's fingers trailed over his stomach to swipe through the cum there, before disappearing. Sam moaned, mouth pressing against the metal of the car, as he felt them slipping down his crack a second later and brushing against his hole. He rocked back against them as Dean pressed two fingers into him; the burn drew a whine from his throat. Dean jerked his head back a bit and instructed, "Clean my fucking car, Sam," before pressing his head back down.
Sam obeyed, licking more cum off the hood, as Dean's fingers pressed deeper, scissoring him open. He whimpered in protest when the man pulled them free minutes later. He lost focus on his task as he felt the head of Dean's dick press against his hole, rubbing in small circles. A hard smack on his ass had him licking the car clean again.
When Dean shoved into him finally, it was hard, fast and deep, and punched a ragged cry from the younger Winchester. His brother froze, hand rubbing light circles against his ass, giving him a minute to adjust. He could feel Dean trembling against him, inside him, knew the man wanted to fuck him hard but was restraining himself.
Sam breathed through the pain, shook his head no almost frantically when Dean leaned in to brush lips against his neck and murmur, "Too much?" He rocked back lightly against his brother, then harder when the stabs of pleasure began shooting through him. His brother growled, fingers digging into his hip hard, and gripped his hair with his other hand. The man shoved his face down against the car hood, holding him down, and began to pound into him.
Sam knew all his brother's buttons as well as Dean knew his. When the man had pounded into him for several minutes, nearly driving him into the hood of the car; when he had finished licking up the last of the cum from the Impala; when he could feel Dean's hands trembling where they gripped his hip and his hair; he turned his head to meet his brother's eyes, green almost completely gone, so blown were his pupils, and asked almost hopefully,
"Wanna make me bleed, Dean?"
His brother let out a strangled cry at the words, entire body going tense, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises. Sam felt his brother's hot come filling him as the man shot load after load into him, and he moaned and rocked back against the other, taking everything he could.
He practically purred in contentment when Dean collapsed on top of him, pressing him down against the hood. "Love you, Dean," he reached back, slipping his hand to the back of Dean's neck, pulling the other closer, "Love you so much."
"Love you, too, Sammy," Dean's mouth pressed against his cheek, his lips, his neck, "Fucking die for you, love you so much."
When Dean moved off him finally, the man tugged up Sam's boxers and jeans, and then his own, ignoring the fact that they were both a mess. He seated himself on the hood of the Impala then, pulled Sam up next to him and into his arms. They leaned back against the windshield, eyes on the stars above them.
"I would burn this whole fuckin' world for you," Dean spoke a while later, voice quiet and sincere, "It and everyone in it."
"I know, Dean," Sam snuggled closer to his brother, clinging to him, and Dean sighed in contentment and held him close.